The Inn at Holiday Bay Books 10 - 12

by Kathi Daley

  Chapter 8

  As it turned out, I’d timed it perfectly, and Velma wasn’t all that busy when I arrived. I slipped onto a stool at the counter, ordered a coffee and a sandwich, and then asked one of my best friends since moving to Holiday Bay how things in her life were going.

  “I guess they’re going fine,” she said. “Royce left for a few days to make arrangements to make his move to the area a permanent one. I guess you could say that the house seems quiet without him, but in a way, the quiet is nice as well.”

  “So, is he going to move in with you?”

  She nodded. “Royce talked me into a trial period. He’s putting most of his stuff in storage until we see if things are going to work out. Royce is convinced this is the right move for us to make, but I’m not as certain. In fact, there is a voice in the back of my mind that keeps yelling at me that full-time cohabitation might very well ruin the lovely relationship we’ve settled into.”

  “You could just tell him to get his own place,” I reminded her.

  “I could, and in fact, I have tried to do just that, but he isn’t listening. You know how Royce is. He’s sweet and charming, and he has this way of getting exactly what he wants.”

  I supposed Royce did have a way of working his way under your skin, especially when it came to Velma.

  “So what’s going on with Dashwood Hollander’s death?” Velma asked. “I’ve heard all sorts of gossip, but I am interested in what you’ve heard since your sources tend to be more reliable than most.”

  I could sense that Velma wanted to veer the conversation away from her relationship with Royce, and decided to accommodate her by filling her in on what I knew, which admittedly wasn’t a lot. Once I’d finished my story, Velma took a minute to think things through before eventually speaking up.

  “So it sounds like Hollander went into the rehearsal room on his own rather than being dragged or forced into the room,” she said. “Colleen from the dime store said pretty much the same thing, but then I heard from Bunny Perkins that the man was dragged down the hallway.”

  “No, I don’t think he was dragged,” I confirmed. “Based on the evidence Colt found, it looks like Hollander entered the room of his own free will. There is zero evidence that he was dragged or forced against his will.”

  “Does Colt know why the man went into the room?” she asked.

  “Not for sure. At this point, we’re assuming that either he’d arranged to meet someone there, or perhaps when he was walking down the hallway on his way to the cast room to change his clothes, he heard or saw something that caused him to check out the room at the end of the hallway.”

  “I suppose if the turkey was free and wandering around like everyone is saying, he might have seen him and then attempted to follow him. Perhaps the door was open, and the turkey wandered into the rehearsal room, so Hollander followed him.”

  “That sounds reasonable, but if that is what occurred, where did the killer come from? Was he or she just waiting around, hoping Hollander would decide to come into the room?” I asked.

  “Probably not.”

  “It seems more reasonable that someone had asked the man to meet with them in the rehearsal room, used the turkey as a lure to get him into position, and then hid and waited. When Hollander showed up, he found the trap-room door open. He glanced inside and saw the turkey. While he was distracted by the bird, someone hit him from behind.”

  “I guess that does make the most sense,” Velma said as she topped off my coffee. “The question is, who would do such a thing?”

  “I’m afraid when it comes to a motive, Colt has more suspects than he knows what to do with. The guy took on a lot of controversial lawsuits.”

  “Yeah,” Velma agreed. “I’ve been hearing a lot of theories that are being passed around. I have to say that there are a lot of folks out there who have reason to hold a grudge, but despite the fact that Hollander had a tendency to defend the bad guy, he actually was a pretty nice guy.”

  “I guess that’s true. He did agree to take on the role of Miles Standish in the Thanksgiving Pageant when no one else would volunteer. It was a role that required a huge time commitment, and the man seemed to be the sort who was already really busy.”

  “He was community-minded,” Velma agreed. “He always was the sort willing to help out with whatever needed doing.”

  The cook rang the bell to let Velma know that my order was up. The conversation paused as she grabbed my food as well as the food for another customer. When she returned, I asked her if she’d known Hollander well. Velma had lived in Holiday Bay for a lot of years, where I’d only been here for two.

  “Sure. I knew him. He came in to eat from time to time, and like I said, he tended to be involved in community projects.”

  “I know that most of the focus in terms of coming up with a suspect list has been on the cast and crew members who we know were on the premises the night he was murdered as well as those in the community who might have had a beef with him due to his client list. Those who were on the premises and seemed to have the opportunity don’t seem to have a motive, and those with a motive don’t seem to have had an opportunity since no one was seen at the theater who wasn’t supposed to be there. Can you think of anyone who might have had a beef with him personally? Someone who might have had a reason to want him dead that has nothing to do with his job?”

  Velma paused to consider my question. “Well, it seems like if money isn’t at the root of a murder, then it’s most likely love. The guy was divorced, and I think the whole thing was pretty messy, but I think his ex-wife moved to Philadelphia, and as far as I know, she hasn’t been in town. He never had children. I suppose he might have been dating since his divorce, but I really don’t know who, if anyone, he might have been involved with. I suppose you can ask his assistant.” She frowned. “Have you spoken to the woman he worked with?”

  “Do you mean Camila Bronwyn?”

  She nodded. “If this Camila Bronwyn is the new woman who he hired as his right-hand man, or I guess I should say, right-hand woman.”

  “I know that Camila was his paralegal. And I know she’s the one who made the arrangements between the new attorney who was assigned to the case of the three sisters who’d come to meet with Hollander, but I’ve never spoken to her.”

  “It just seems to me that if the woman actually was Hollander’s right-hand woman, she might know things about the man that the rest of us don’t.”

  Velma had a good point. I wondered if Colt had talked to her. Perhaps I’d stop by his office and check.

  I chatted with Velma for a while longer, thanked her for lunch, and then headed down the street to Colt’s office. He wasn’t in, and his right-hand woman, Peach, assured me that he would be out for most of the afternoon. I tried calling his cell, but it went straight through to voicemail. I supposed I should assume that Colt had spoken to the paralegal and had found out whatever there was to find out, but my curiosity got the best of me, and I decided to make a side trip to Hollander’s office on my way back to the inn.

  “Can I help you?” a woman in a forest green suit asked.

  “I’d like to speak to Camila Bronwyn if she is in.”

  “Do you have an appointment?”

  “No,” I admitted. “My name is Abby Sullivan. I really just have a couple quick questions if she has a minute.”

  The woman hesitated, but she eventually indicated that I should have a seat. She informed me that she would check with Ms. Bronwyn to see if she had a few minutes to spare. She picked up the phone, which I assumed doubled as an intercom. She spoke to someone for a few minutes and then motioned for me to follow her down the hallway. I had to admit the office building was really nice considering it was located in our small community. It had the feel of a big city office, although it was much smaller.

  The receptionist ushered me into a room where the blond-haired woman who’d met with the sisters at the inn with the attorney assigned to replace Mr. Hollander sat behind a h
uge desk that seemed much too large for the small office.

  “Ms. Sullivan,” she said, standing up behind her desk. “Do have a seat.” She motioned to the chairs placed across from her desk. “So how can I help you?” she asked after I sat down.

  Okay, now what was I supposed to say? Maybe I should have thought this through. The woman was waiting for me to speak with a look of expectation on her face, so I eventually just jumped in. “I’m not sure if you’ve heard, but I’m the one who found Dashwood’s body in the trap-room on the night of his murder.”

  She frowned. “No. I hadn’t heard who’d found him, only that he’d been found. Were you close?”

  “No,” I admitted. “Not really. We were working on the same play, which I suppose provided a certain level of familiarity, but I really didn’t know him before that.” I suppressed the urge to fidget as I worked out what I wanted to say. “I guess the reason I’m here is that ever since I found the poor man down there in the trap-room, I’ve been trying to work out how he might have gotten there, and who might have killed him.”

  “And you think I might know?”

  “You did work closely with him. I guess I figured that if there was anything going on in his life that might have led to his death, you might know about it.”

  “And you thought that if I did know something, I would tell you?”

  I shrugged. “I guess I hoped you would.”

  She smiled. A large genuine smile, which startled me since she had been all stern and businesslike since I’d arrived. “I’ve read your books, and I have to say that your fictional characters do a much better job interrogating witnesses than you do.”

  I smiled back. “Yeah. I guess it was a dumb idea to come in here without a plan. I was just having lunch with Velma over at the diner, and we got to talking, and your name came up. I guess my showing up was really nothing more than an impulse.”

  “Well, I guess I can admire that. I’ll give you a high score for initiative, but a low score for execution. Overall, I’d say the trip was probably a bad idea, although I do appreciate someone who takes action rather than just stewing on things as most tend to do.”

  “So, does that mean you’ll give me the information I came here to find out?”

  She shook her head. “No, I’m afraid not. Mr. Hollander’s business affairs are confidential, and a discussion of confidential matters will require a warrant. I’ve already told that boyfriend of yours that he will need to get one if he wants anything more out of me.”

  I supposed I should have expected as much. “Well, thank you for your time.” I stood up.

  “Have you spoken to Cookie?”

  “Cookie?”

  “Mr. Hollander’s housekeeper. She also cooks for him, hence the name. I can’t say for certain that she’ll have any information to share, but if there is something to know, she’d be the one to know it.”

  I smiled. “Thank you. I’ll arrange to speak to her.”

  “She likes butterscotch. If you really want her to open up, bring her something made with butterscotch.”

  “I will, and thank you again.”

  After I left Hollander’s office, I headed toward a local bakeshop. Normally, I’d just have Georgia whip something up, but I really wanted to try to speak to the woman this afternoon, so I figured that grabbing something that was already made would be the most expedient way to go about getting the information I was after.

  The house where Dashwood Hollander had lived before his death was located just outside town. It was a modest house compared to the amount of money the man must have raked in each year, but a very nice house compared to the structures most people in the area lived in. I actually wasn’t sure Cookie or anyone would be at the residence since the owner was dead, but when I knocked, a plump woman with white hair answered the door.

  “Are you Cookie?” I asked.

  “Yes, dear. Who are you?”

  “Abby Sullivan.”

  Her eyes grew wide. “The Abby Sullivan, who is also Abagail Sullivan, the writer?”

  I nodded. “Yes, ma’am.”

  She opened the door wider. “Well, don’t just stand out there, come on in.”

  I stepped into the entry, and she closed the door behind me. “I can’t tell you how tickled I am to meet you. I’ve read all your books. The romances are my favorite, but I love them all.”

  I smiled. “Thank you. I’m happy you’re enjoying my books.”

  “Come in and have a seat. Can I get you coffee? Fresh squeezed lemonade?”

  “No. I really only have a few minutes. I’m actually here to ask about Dashwood. If you have a few minutes, that is.”

  “I can spare a minute. Let’s sit in the parlor and have ourselves a nice chat.”

  A nice chat, I realized, was exactly what I’d come for.

  “So, Cookie agreed to speak to you?” Colt asked later that evening after he’d stopped by the cottage for dinner.

  “She did. Apparently, she loves my books and was thrilled to meet me.”

  “When I tried to speak to her, she claimed she didn’t know anything about anything, and then she slammed the door in my face.”

  “Did you bring butterscotch?” I wondered.

  “Butterscotch?” Colt asked.

  “It turns out the woman loves butterscotch.”

  “I’ll have to remember that in the event I need to speak to her in the future. So did she tell you anything useful?” Colt asked.

  “Maybe,” I answered. “It took her a while to warm up to telling me anything really relevant, but she eventually let it slip that Hollander had come home after work on the day he was killed before heading over to the theater. When he arrived at his home, he headed into his office, where he got something out of his safe. She knew he had retrieved something from his safe because she’d been walking down the hallway with a load of towels to put away, and his office door was open, so she’d happened to see him. After he grabbed whatever he was there to grab, he left again. Cookie told me that he didn’t say a word when he left and that she’d never seen him alive again.”

  “Did she remember what time she’d seen him at the house?”

  “She didn’t remember exactly, but she said it was dark. If I had to guess, Hollander had gone straight from home to rehearsal.”

  “So the question is, what did he take from the safe?” Colt asked.

  “And what did he do with it?” I seconded. “Did he intend to give something to someone once he reached the theater? That might explain why he was in the rehearsal room.”

  Colt frowned. “I didn’t find anything unusual on the body or anywhere in the room. I suppose if Hollander did meet someone with the intention of giving them something, the exchange might already have taken place.”

  “Yeah,” I sighed. “That seems likely.” Without the object that Hollander retrieved or any way to identify who Hollander might have met if that was even what happened, I wasn’t sure we were any further along than we had been, but it still felt like we’d learned something that might be important at some point in the future.

  Chapter 9

  The weekend had been uneventful. The sisters had returned late Sunday evening and had left again early this morning. They seemed to have tasks to perform in Holiday Bay today since they were here for an early breakfast and planned to be here for dinner. The guests who’d checked in on Thursday had checked out yesterday, so it would only be the sisters until Thursday of this week. Georgia had spoken to them and had worked out a meal schedule that would best accommodate their needs.

  Lacy had called earlier and asked if I wanted to help her decorate the community center for the upcoming chamber of commerce wine tasting and mixer. I told her I would, although I also shared that I wasn’t certain I’d be attending. I knew these sorts of events were important, but it seemed like our particular chamber of commerce met frequently, and really how much networking could one woman do. Of course, if Georgia wasn’t busy, she might want to attend, so maybe I’d offer
to hold down the fort while she made the rounds.

  Lacy had offered to pick me up at the inn since there were fliers she needed to pick up from Georgia, anyway. I assured her I’d get ready right away, so I filled Georgia in and then headed next door to do so.

  “I added color and graphics and made five hundred copies,” Georgia said, handing me the pile of fliers she’d prepared once I’d changed my clothes and returned to the inn. “I also emailed a copy to everyone on the mailing list.”

  “Seems like that should be enough to get the word out,” I said.

  “I know that providing both a physical flier and an email reminder might seem like a bit much, but the wine tasting is a popular mixer, and I want to be sure that everyone hears about it.”

  I looked down at the paper in my hand. The wine tasting was on Friday. “Are you planning to attend?”

  She paused. “I’m not sure. I’d like to, but we’ll have a full inn, and the wine tasting is during the dinner hour.”

  “I wasn’t going to attend, and I doubt Jeremy will care about it. How about the two of us handle dinner, and you go and have fun.”

  “Really?” She smiled.

  I nodded. “Really. You’ll enjoy it more than I will, and it would be a good idea to have a representative from the inn at the event.”

  Georgia hugged me. “Okay. That sounds good. I’ll let Tanner know. He mentioned it a few days ago, but I told him I wasn’t sure I could work it out.”